Free The Recluse Storyteller by Mark W Sasse Page A

as if he was another sapling growing in a green forest. Gwen was furious that Georgia would not wait, so she boycotted the trip more than once by sitting down and putting the baby on her lap, thinking that she would just turn around and go home.
    “Georgia kept her sights on the lonely crab-apple tree as she approached the summit—a truly special place for her. She had spent many summer afternoons under the shade of that tree, pretending she was a princess or an heiress with all the expensive trimmings that life could afford. Gwen would come occasionally, but she usually ruined the fun by putting too much realism into make-believe.”
     
    * * *
     
    “See Pam, you need to lighten up. You do the same thing as Gwen.”
    “I do not. I know how to make-believe just fine.”
    Margaret lifted up her head and smiled at the girls.
    “Remember when I was trying to be a ballerina, and I put Mama’s stocking on?”
    “Well, ballerinas don’t wear brown stockings and especially not ones that go up to your armpits. You looked ridiculous.”
    Margaret put her head back and pretended she heard nothing.
     
    * * *
     
    “Today was different. Georgia sensed it. A strange feeling overcame her as she reached the grassy knoll that led up to the tree with its twisted and irregular branches reaching out in all directions. She smelled something too. Something familiar. Then, she noticed an object sticking out from behind the tree. A table. Clearly, it was a table, for she could see its leg and the sharp angle where the table-top jutted out from the tree. As Georgia edged forward, she caught a glimpse of a simple wooden chair, pushed away from the table, and a man, dressed in a rugged workman’s overcoat, sitting and staring out the opposite way into the rolling plains which seemed to carry on eternally to the end of the horizon.
    “Georgia tilted her eyes and cocked her head, cautiously approaching the tree but keeping her body tucked behind the trunk, so she could not be seen by the man. When she reached the crabapple, she put her back against it and looked down the valley. Gwen was nowhere in sight, hidden behind one of the rolling bluffs which weaved their way the entire length of the climb.
    “Quietly and slowly, Georgia leaned around the tree and peeked at the man. He looked so familiar from the back that she couldn’t take her eyes off of him. Suddenly, as if his head had always been looking in her direction, the man stared right at her. She gasped in disbelief, and he flashed that warm, familiar smile in her direction.
    “‘Georgia. My sweet Georgia. Come closer.’
    “‘Papa? Papa?’
    “She couldn’t believe her eyes. Tears streamed down her face as she leapt like a jackrabbit into his arms.
    “‘Oh, Papa. I’ve missed you so. I’ve missed you.’
    “He caressed her gently. Low-rolling thunder shook in the distance. The leaves of the crab apple whispered softly in the breeze. Georgia could sense it all. She was in tune with her surroundings like never before. She sat in his lap but felt distant from him. It felt like she was embraced by her surroundings, a gentle touch from a branch, a longing stroke from the wind, a peaceful serenade from the insects who busily climbed up the legs of the table beside them. Georgia felt a burning in her heart. A happiness, a warmth, but a burning none the less. It ached. She leaned back in her father’s lap and looked directly into her father’s face.
    “‘Are you real?’
    “‘Come. Sit at the table. Let me look at you.’
    “‘Where is Starling and the wagon?’
    “Georgia looked around. He had no possessions; no mode of transport; he sat with only the clothes on his back, and they were ragged clothes she didn’t recognize.
    “‘You look so pretty.’
    “‘Have you seen Mama yet? She will be so happy. And Gwen and the baby. They’re coming up the hill now. Let me get them.’
    “‘No, Georgia. We don’t have much time, and I want to look at you. I’ve missed you